The wheels on the [publishing] bus go ’round and ’round…

“I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.”

—Douglas Adams

Actually, I doubt anyone really likes deadlines—except, of course, when they are behind us and we have successfully met them. But sometimes in publishing, it’s hard to celebrate a deadline when another one is always rushing at you.

My coauthor (who just happens to be my husband) and I celebrated the completion and submission to Arcadia Publishing of our pictorial history, Missouri Wine Country: St. Charles to Hermann, about three weeks ago. Before the cork was back in the wine bottle after our celebratory glass (or so it seems), an email had arrived from our editor politely suggesting we fill out some of the photo descriptions a bit more. Oh, yes, and some of the images would need to be replaced, rescanned, or omitted, by the way. This is common and even standard procedure with manuscript submissions of any type; the acquisitions editor’s role at times is to guide the author in developing the best product possible. In our case, that guidance is very much appreciated!

Before we could complete the requested tasks, however, an email arrived from the publishing company’s marketing department asking us to complete an eight-page questionnaire to assist with sales when the book is released. Again, much appreciated—what good is a book if nobody buys it? (Some would argue this point.)

Behind that—within hours—came an email from the Midwest publisher at the company reminding us of the upcoming deadline for our next book.

And any day now, while we’re still catching up with all of the above in the precious few hours we are not at our day jobs, we expect to receive the page proofs of the wine country book for our review.

Now, please don’t get me wrong—I am grateful for all of it. I know there are a lot of writers who would like to trade places (they’ve told me!). I would rather run around crazy chasing deadlines than to have no deadlines to chase.

And I know the wheels on this bus will slow down, and there will be time to celebrate. Forgive me if I roll through the intersection and never come to a complete stop. Because if I have my way, there will always be another project on the horizon and another deadline I have to rush up that hill to meet.

(Thanks to Anna and everyone at Arcadia for being so wonderful to work with. We appreciate everything you do!)

Image: dan / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

What’s in a name?

Did you know the “S” in Harry S. Truman’s name and in Ulysses S. Grant’s name stood for nothing?

My blog entry about L Hawthorne and the origin of his single-letter first name got me to thinking about these two U.S. presidents with single-letter middle names. Both have ties to Missouri.

Ulysses S. Grant was born in Ohio in 1822 and named Hiram Ulysses Grant. When he was appointed to West Point in 1839, he discovered that the congressman who had appointed him—apparently confused about his name—had listed Grant’s middle name first and  his mother’s maiden name, Simpson, as a middle name. While his friends and family continued to call him Ulysses, it is believed the other cadets nicknamed him “Uncle Sam” for his initials and eventually shortened it to “Sam.” Ulysses himself told people the “S” in his middle name stood for nothing.

Grant’s connections to Missouri began when he was assigned, upon graduation from West Point, to the Fourth U.S. Infantry at Jefferson Barracks, south of St. Louis. Frederick Dent had been one of Grant’s West Point roommates, and the Dent family farm, named White Haven, was not far away. Grant began visiting Fred’s sister, Julia, at White Haven when he was on leave. He eventually married her in 1848. The couple settled in Missouri for a time before the Civil War, but sadly, much of that time was marked by financial trouble. Grant went on to serve as general-in-chief of the Union Army, and in 1868, was elected the 18^th president of the United States. Today, the area once farmed by Grant in Missouri is a tourist site and popular family attraction.

Sidenote: Ulysses and Julie had a son named Ulysses S. Grant, Jr., and yes—this time his middle name apparently really was Simpson.

Our 33^rd president, Harry S. Truman, was born in Lamar, Missouri. His single-letter middle name has sparked controversy among editors since the 1960s, when Truman told reporters—perhaps jokingly—that there should be no period after his middle initial since it didn’t stand for anything. But although Truman sometimes ran his names together in his signature so that no period is apparent, archives at the Harry S. Truman Library contain other examples where the period is obvious. Today, most style manuals, including The Chicago Manual of Style, suggest that middle initials should be followed by periods even if they are not abbreviations of names.

Sidenote: Harry was given the single letter “S” for his middle name in honor of both of his grandfathers, Anderson Shipp Truman and Solomon Young.

One Man’s Hero

L Hawthorne

L Hawthorne was born May 28, 1922, in Lillie, Louisiana. His grandson, writer Lawrence D. Elliott, explains the origins of L’s single-letter name in his story, “Well, I’ve Had a Plenty!” (My Dad is My Hero, Adams Media).

When L was born, a white man in the parish gave him his name. It was the segregated South, and while L’s parents may have wanted to choose a different name for their son, the climate of the times would not allow them to object. Many years later, L told his grandson: “In those days, when a white man named you, you stayed named.”

When this picture was taken, L was in his early twenties and serving in the U.S. Navy during World War II. After his discharge, he eventually went to work for the city of San Diego and tirelessly repaired city streets. L was a man of strong faith and spent most of his spare time in church. According to Lawrence, that’s where he died on July 26, 1992, while singing his favorite hymn. L was so well-respected and loved—not only in California, but through national church circles—that his funeral lasted almost five hours while a steady stream of visitors paid their respects. Governor Pete Wilson, who was mayor of San Diego when Lawrence was a child, sent a letter of condolence.

L served as a father figure for Lawrence while he was growing up, and Lawrence later followed his grandfather’s example and entered the military. It is clear from reading Lawrence’s wonderful story about L that his grandfather is his hero. But it is equally clear to me that L was undeniably proud of his grandson. Lawrence ends his story by remembering how L would always plop down after a good meal and exclaim, “Well, I’ve had a plenty!” Due to his grandfather’s loving care and guidance, Lawrence feels he’s “had a plenty,” too.

Special thanks to Lawrence D. Elliott for giving me permission to publish this photo. Lawrence published his own blog story about his grandfather, called “Sweet Potato Pie.” It’s a great read; check it out!

From Both Sides of the Desk: Editor and Writer

Working as an editor by day and a writer by night reminds me a lot of my elementary school teaching days, when I had the perspective of both teacher and parent and could speak from either side of the desk.

More than one parent-teacher conference found me sitting across from a defensive parent—arms crossed, brow furrowed—ready to deflect any less-than-favorable comments or suggestions about his or her child. But having been on the other side of the desk, sometimes earlier that same day, and often feeling rather defensive of my own very active son and easily distracted daughter, I could empathize. Boy, could I empathize. My own children occasionally had inflexible teachers who I desperately wished would be just a little more gentle and kind to my darlings—and to me. In the end, those teachers made me a better one in that I learned to quickly establish rapport with the parents who—like me—were not given particularly easy children to raise. I knew what they were going through, because I was going through it, too.

Someone once said that the hardest part of raising a child is sending your very heart out into the world and watching people step on it. Writers who submit their work for publication know they are sending their very soul out into the world so it can be stepped on, too. As an editor, I try to be gentle and kind to the manuscript (and author) entrusted to me. I try very hard not to alter an author’s “voice.” And when in the evenings I send my own little darlings out into the world, I hope for an editor who will do the same.

Sometimes I get lucky, and I’m proud of the piece when I see it in print. Occasionally, I’m not so lucky, and I cringe when my piece is published. I never make waves, because that would be unprofessional. After all, I signed a contract giving the publisher permission to edit my writing. But recently something I wrote and am not particularly proud of—mainly because of an editing decision—was included in a publication that is selling very well. I am faced with a decision: Claim it or hide it? Literary integrity or self-promotion?

“Why must the two be mutually exclusive?” asked a colleague.

“If it’s selling big, claim it and promote it,” advised another who is savvy in ways of the publishing world. “Numbers matter.”

In the end, hopefully these experiences will make me a better editor. I know what the authors whose manuscripts I edit are going through, because I am going through it, too.

(Image: Freedigitalphotos.net)

Speaking of St. Charles…

November events:

My husband and coauthor, Don, and I will give a PowerPoint presentation and discuss the development of our recent pictorial history, St. Charles: Les Petites Côtes (Images of America series, Arcadia Publishing). We’ll also give a sneak preview of photos from our upcoming book, Missouri Wine Country: St. Charles to Hermann–with special emphasis, of course, on St. Charles County! If you’re in the St. Louis or St. Charles area, please stop by and see us at the Kathryn Linnemann branch, 2323 Elm Street, in St. Charles at 7 p.m. on November 10th. Many thanks to Vicky Erwin and Main Street Books (The Nickelodeon Parents’ Pick for Best Bookstore in St Louis!) for sponsoring us at these events.

On Thursday, November 19, from 4:30 to 8 p.m the St. Charles City-County Library District is sponsoring a special event for local authors:  “Meet the Authors Event” at the Middendorf-Kredell Branch Library, 2750 Highway K, in O’Fallon. Don and I will be signing books and greeting visitors at the event from 4:30 until 6:00.

Later the same evening, November 19, Don and I will give a one-hour talk from 7 to 8 p.m. for members of the St. Louis Writers Guild at Barnes & Noble, 8871 Ladue Road.

Hope to see some familiar (and not-so-familiar) faces!

It’s in the mail!

Missouri Wine Country, St. Charles to Hermann: The manuscript and DVDs with 204 photos are packaged up and on their way to Arcadia Publishing. Time to celebrate with—what else—a glass of wine! (Image credit: www.freeimages.co.uk/)

Missouri Day

Missouri Autumn, by Don Graveman

Celebrate!

Wednesday, October 21, 2009, is Missouri Day. On March 22, 1915, the 48th General Assembly set aside the first Monday in October each year as “a day commemorative of Missouri history to be observed by the teachers and pupils of schools with the appropriate exercises.” (It was moved to the third Wednesday in October in 1969.)

The idea came from Anna Lee Brosius Korn, a native Missourian and schoolteacher. Anna was born in 1869 in Hamilton, Missouri; her relatives included an ambassador to Russia and the founder of J.C. Penney department stores. Anna also composed the former Missouri state song, “Missouri,” which was officially adopted by the Missouri legislature. However, in 1949, the “Missouri Waltz” was adopted as the official state song and remains so today.

Anna later moved to Oklahoma and founded Oklahoma Day, the Oklahoma Memorial/Heritage Association, and the Oklahoma Hall of Fame, but that is another story. She is buried in Hamilton, Missouri, her birthplace, so we Missourians still get to claim her as one of our own. You can see her photo and gravesite here.

Why October? Why not May, Harry Truman’s birth month, as some have suggested? According to Missouri Secretary of State, Robin Carnahan, October was chosen for the state holiday for two reasons: First, Mark Twain rightly noted that Missouri is “at her best in October.” Second, Jefferson City became the seat of government on October 1, 1826. You can read more about Missouri Day in a news release here.

And don’t forget to celebrate!

(Thanks to my friend and Missouri writer extraordinaire, Ann Hazelwood, for reminding me about Missouri Day.)

This is what a hundred looks like…

A white-haired gentleman with wise blue eyes walked into the Washington Historical Society building in Washington, Missouri, where we were doing research last weekend. He had driven in from Marthasville. “Ralph,” Marc Houseman, museum director, addressed him—and instantly, I knew who he was. After all, Ralph Gregory is a bit of a celebrity in these parts.

What came next was even more of a surprise. As I rose to shake Mr. Gregory’s hand, Marc announced—with some measure of pride—that Ralph had turned one hundred years old two weeks prior.

Wow. I’d never met anyone who was a hundred before. Which does nothing to explain my next statement: “You sure don’t look like a hundred.”

“I don’t know what a hundred is supposed to look like,” Ralph said.

Ralph Gregory was born September 27, 1909. He served as a radio and radar instructor in the U.S. Army during World War II and became a prisoner of war in Turkey after his plane was shot down. Later he was a farmer and, for a short time, a rural correspondent for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Ralph was named curator of the Mark Twain Memorial Shrine in Florida, Missouri, in 1960, and curator at the Mark Twain Boyhood Home and Museum in Hannibal in 1974. Recognized as the area’s foremost historian, Ralph says: “He who ignores history is going to repeat it.”

Ralph Gregory has been instrumental in the development of more than ten historical societies in the state. He is the author of over a dozen books. When asked at his birthday celebration the secret of longevity, Ralph said, simply: “Work. Work hard.”

This, then, is what a hundred looks like.

Missouri’s Mountain Man

Photo by Don Graveman

Some explorers are so famous—like Meriwether Lewis and William Clark—that almost everybody knows a little bit about them. Museums are built for them, and schoolchildren study them. And then there are others who get mentioned in a history book now and then or who may inhabit a small corner exhibit at a city’s historical society. Ask a Missourian on the street if he’s heard of John Colter, and he may say yes. But it is unlikely, unless he is a history buff, that he will be able to give you details—unless he lives in New Haven. It is here, in a small town in this Midwestern Show-me state, that mountain man John Colter made his final home, died, and is buried.

Born in Virginia, Colter was enlisted while in his twenties to join the Lewis and Clark Expedition, partly because of his advanced hunting skills. John Ordway (another member of the expedition) reported in his journal on September 6, 1804, that Colter “had killed one buffelow, one elk, 3 deer one wolf 5 turkies and goose one beaver also” (spelling and punctuation of original author retained).

In 1806, Colter requested discharge from the expedition and traveled by canoe down the Missouri River. Tales of Colter’s legendary mountain adventures include being chased by a grizzly and escaping capture by the Blackfeet Indians. But more importantly, John Colter is credited as the first white man to have “discovered” Yellowstone, an area that would later become America’s first national park. His accounts of bubbling, hot springs would lead writers of the era to dub the discovery, “Colter’s Hell.”

John Colter eventually settled along the Missouri River near present day New Haven, Missouri, where he died in 1812, after having spent several months serving under the command of Nathan Boone, son of pioneer Daniel Boone. Today, a boulder from the Yellowstone River region, donated by the people of Montana and shipped to New Haven, serves as a memorial to John Colter—Missouri’s famous mountain man.

Side note: How does John Colter wind up in a book on Missouri wine country? Easy! New Haven is a small city along the Hermann Wine Trail; it is just one of the river towns whose early settlement and history we hope to capture in pictures and words for our upcoming addition to Arcadia Publishing’s Images of America series.

“The Beer Song” in wine country…

Photo by Don Graveman

More often than not, when we tell people we are writing a regional history on Missouri wine country, we receive enthusiastic offers to “help do research.” It isn’t always that much fun, really. Last weekend, we put almost 300 miles on the car in two days. We visited every winery—large and small—on both sides of the Missouri River from St. Charles to Hermann, and we didn’t taste one drop. Not that we didn’t want to, but there was work to be done. We figure we’ll celebrate when we make deadline.

But Sunday afternoon, when I crawled from the passenger seat on stiffened knees at the Röbller Vineyard and Winey in New Haven, strains of “The Beer Song” echoed over hill and valley, and the laughter of wine-sippers and revelers was instantly contagious. The source of this hilarity, I discovered, was none other than musician, Mark Moebeck. Our photo of Mark didn’t come out well, and far be it from me to post a less than flattering image of someone online (“Do unto others…”), so I’ve linked to his website.

“The Beer Song” was followed by a folksy rendition of the appropriately titled, “Red, Red Wine.”  Unfortunately, time constraints and the setting sun forced us to move on after only a couple of songs, but we hope to catch Mark’s act another time when we can stay awhile.

I wish I could print the ridiculously silly lyrics to “The Beer Song” here (sung to the tune of “Do Re Mi”), but copyright infringement isn’t on my list of activities for the evening. If you live in Missouri, check out Mark’s schedule and go listen for yourself! He’ll be at the Blumenhof Winery in Dutzow this weekend.